Birthday Girl: A contemporary sports romantic comedy (Minnesota Ice Book 3)

by Lily Kate

  “I’ve gotta teach the breaststroke. Care to join?”

  “Breaststroke. Funny.”

  “I’m not laughing.”

  “You’re looking at my boobs.”

  “Nope.” He shakes his head, eyes landing on my oddly shaped suit. “It’s impossible to see anything through that.”

  “I wore it specially for you.”

  “I’m flattered.” He reaches out, toys with one of the weird, random string-things hanging from the outside. It’s almost like Native American tribal wear, but less interesting. “Next time, feel free to drop the shield. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

  “I’m not sure if you understand how to do that.”

  “Tell me one thing, Annie.” He leans over, his breath dancing across my collarbone. “Would you slap me if I kissed you right now?”

  I rub my lips together, my entire body zinging with the prospect. It wasn’t that the first kiss had been horrible. In fact, I quite liked the feel of his lips against mine, but I’m not ready to admit that to him. Instead, I stick a hand on my hip. “Do you really want to risk it?”

  “Okay then,” he says, leading me toward the pool with a lingering smile. “Just don’t forget that two can play at this game, Miss Plymouth.”

  Chapter 14

  ANNIE

  The rest of the lesson passes with surprisingly few incidents. Cohen doesn’t try to steal my noodle or kiss me, and I refrain from slapping him. It’s almost like we’ve reached an odd level of truce, and I find the end of the class arriving too soon.

  I didn’t even hate the water as much today as I normally do. I made it down and back once, all by myself. I might have strapped myself into a life vest and held onto a secondary floatation device, but it was progress.

  “See you all next week,” Cohen says, ushering us out of the pool as the oversized clock on the wall shows it’s time to go. “Nice work today, everyone.”

  I bid Leigh goodbye and head toward the showers. Cohen catches me, matches my stride.

  “You never answered my question,” he says, his gaze quite passive. “I was hoping to get a response.”

  “I thought I was clear. I don’t want to go on a date with you.”

  “I meant your suit.” He picks up the streamers between two fingers. “What is this thing?”

  “No comment.”

  “Annie,” he says, changing his tune. “You did good today. Really.”

  “Because you didn’t steal my noodle.”

  “At this rate, you won’t need to let me take you on a date to pass.”

  He’s grinning, so I smile back. Before I can think up a halfway intelligent response, he’s gone—disappeared into the men’s room. I wait, surprised for a long second, until I realize he’s not coming back.

  Heading into the women’s locker room, I rinse, lather, shampoo, and realize it’s all for naught just as I’m finishing up. I’ve forgotten that Gran signed me up for the synchronized swim team—the retired version—and today’s my first day.

  Seeing as I’ve already showered, the thought of climbing back into a wet burlap sack holds absolutely zero appeal for me. Luckily, I have a second option; I fish the black two piece I picked up at Target out of my locker.

  Once it’s on, I glance at my body in the mirror. It’s not half bad, I think, which is about as good as it’s going to get. Bonus points if Cohen catches a glimpse while he’s got his hands tied up teaching baby class.

  Because whatever Cohen’s opinion on the matter, we’re off limits to each other. Completely and utterly off limits.

  Chapter 15

  COHEN

  Now she changes into some hot little number.

  Now that she’s over there doing stretches and cartwheels and who knows what else with the old lady squad, she’s decided not to wear the strangest swimsuit on earth.

  What the hell are they doing, anyway? I squint, trying to make out some sort of routine, or dance, or... something. I’d overheard Annie telling Leigh that her grandmother had signed her up for synchronized swimming lessons.

  One problem. There is nothing synchronized about these ladies. One of them has her hands in the air, another one’s floating on her back, and a third is sitting on the edge of the pool.

  Meanwhile, Annie, sexy as hell in her new black bikini, is patiently helping one of the women twirl around like a ballerina. In the water.

  “Cohen!” One of the mother’s in my infant class calls me, her voice sharp. “I dropped Thomas into the water. Is he okay?”

  I look at the baby—I’m not great with babies. This little man is somewhere between three months and three years old. When my PR lady got me the class, I went through some training before teaching, and they said I wouldn’t be doing the holding of babies. Just singing songs and splashing around.

  Which is why I’m completely unprepared when Mrs. Erickson thrusts her kid at me. He’s somewhere between the size of a watermelon and a yardstick. He doesn’t talk yet, just gurgles and smiles and farts.

  “Oh, hello there,” I say, wrapping my arms around Thomas. “You’re a tough kid, aren’t you?”

  Thomas blinks water out of his eyes, looking a little confused.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’m confused about what we’re supposed to do with you, too.”

  I hold him out at arm’s length, my fingers getting a little sweaty. He’s heavier than he looks, and I don’t want to drop him. What comes next? It’s like all the training I took before teaching just flies out of my head and is replaced by blankness.

  Am I supposed to cuddle him? Plop him in the water? I know I’m not supposed to dunk him underneath, but the rest seems to be fair game. What’s the song about the wheels and the bus?

  Thomas kicks his feet and squeals, and I take that as a good sign. I lower him ever so slowly until his feet hit the water, and he begins to splash. The smile on his face splits even wider, and then this bubbly little laugh comes from his throat that makes me laugh right along with him.

  “I think he likes it,” I say, surprised to feel a tiny sense of accomplishment. “Well, look at that, you punk.”

  Mrs. Erickson is smiling now too. “He won’t splash for anybody except me!”

  “Way to go, buddy.”

  “So that means he’s okay?”

  “Kids are tough,” I tell her, handing Thomas back. “A little water in the eyes won’t hurt anyone.”

  I do my rounds with the class, realizing sometime later that thirty minutes have passed in a whirl. I haven’t even checked out Annie once. Before ending the class, I take Thomas for another spin around the pool, surprised to find myself wanting to earn another laugh.

  That’s when I catch Annie’s eye. She’s watching me with this look of amusement mixed with curiosity on her face in the middle of her routine. I shrug when our eyes meet, and she snaps to attention, making an effort to ignore me.

  I take no small amount of pleasure in the fact that the back of Annie’s neck is bright red. Music pumps from her side of the pool, some old song from Grease. She’s clearly distracted, wildly off the beat. Even her Gran is keeping pace with the song.

  Her class runs fifteen minutes longer than mine, so I take the opportunity to say goodbye to my miniature students before hitting the showers. I’m clean, and dressed by the time Annie’s class is done, so I dawdle in the front lobby for ten extra minutes.

  I help myself to the godawful coffee, chat with the receptionist—whose voice is as thrilling as a paper towel—and listen as she recounts the medical mishaps of her seven cats. I’m debating putting myself out of my misery when, out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman I’ve been waiting for.

  Annie’s deep in conversation with her grandmother as the pair climbs the stairs, and it’s Grannie Plymouth who sees me first.

  “Hey, Mr. Teacher,” she calls. “You were looking good out there.”

  “Thank you, Mrs...”

  “Call me Lucy.”

  Annie swivels her head to
face her grandmother. “Your name is not Lucy.”

  “Nah, you’re right.” The older woman sticks her hand out. “My name is Margaret. But don’t you think I’m more of a Lucy? Or, why don’t you just call me Gran?”

  I glance between the two, a smile frozen on my face.

  “Her friends call her Maggie,” Annie clarifies, her cheeks filling with a new shade of pink. “Feel free to do the same.”

  “Maggie.” I extend a hand. “Pleasure to meet you. Caught a glimpse of your synchronized swimming moves and, let me tell you, they are something else.”

  Gran shakes my hand, the blush on her face matching that of her granddaughter’s. “Well, thank you, my friend. I pride myself on my flexibility. Did you see me doing the splits out there?”

  “Alrighty, then.” Annie gently guides her grandmother through the front doors. “Keep this up, Gran, and we’ll put you in that home you’ve been eyeing.”

  “Oh, relax.” Gran pats Annie’s arm. “Aren’t I charming, Mr. Teacher?”

  “Call me Cohen.”

  “Cohen, aren’t I charming?”

  “Sure are, Maggie.”

  “Great,” she says. “You have a good day now, Cohen. It was fun watching you with them babies. You’ve got a knack for teaching the little tykes.”

  Her comment is surprisingly sweet, but I don’t tell her so. Instead, I do the next worst thing and turn to Annie. “Hey, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a second.”

  “What?” Annie looks up, eyes wild. “Fine, sure, whatever. You can say it right here.”

  I give a look at her grandmother, but it’s not enough to deter me. I haven’t sat around listening to the receptionist talk about her cats for fun, and I’m not giving up this easily.

  “Okay, then,” I say, lowering my voice so the entire bridge club upstairs can’t here. “Is there any chance I can get your phone number?”

  “No.”

  “You can have mine,” Gran says, fluttering her eyelashes. “But it’s a landline, so don’t try to text. I’ve tried texting from the landline before, and things get a little wonky.”

  “I’ll bet,” I say, holding a straight face. “What about it, Annie?”

  “I said I’m not interested in dating.”

  “This isn’t about a date.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Since when is it against the law for a handsome man to ask a beautiful women for her number?” Gran turns to Annie and gives her a poke to the chest. “Tell him yes, kiddo. You can always tell him no to a date over the phone.”

  Annie’s jaw sets in a firm line, and I’m sure she’s going to tell her grandmother off first, and then round on me.

  But she’s full of surprises. “Don’t you already have it?”

  “Have what?” I ask.

  “My number.” She shifts her purse higher on her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure it’s on the roster, along with my address.”

  “You don’t mind if I call you sometime?”

  I watch Annie’s face flash through a rainbow of emotions. From the outside, it looks like she wants to say yes, but is stopped by something resembling pride. I should know, I have plenty of it, along with the stubbornness to back it up.

  “Whatever,” she says. “See you next week.”

  She leaves with her grandmother, and I pull my backpack closer. Inside, I’ve got my wet swimsuit there, wrapped in a plastic bag, along with the gift from Annie. That Superman robe is the most thoughtful gift I’ve received in the last five years.

  Annie might not know it, but that’s the reason I can’t find it in me to give up on her yet. Even if it’d been in jest, there was meaning behind it. A certain thoughtfulness. She’d done her research, and she’d been thinking about me.

  In fact, I have one idea left. It’s a gamble, and it’s risky, but Annie’s already proven that it’ll take extraordinary measures to get her to trust me. To let me take her out to dinner. To wiggle my way into her life.

  I’ll have to wait until the right moment to follow up on my plan. For now, I’ll be patient and wait. The only thing that I can guarantee for certain is this: chasing after Annie Plymouth will either be the stupidest stunt I’ve ever pulled, or just maybe, it’ll be the very best thing.

  Chapter 16

  ANNIE

  “Am I horrible?” I ask Leigh after our third class. “Do you think I’m a terrible person?”

  “What are you talking about? Of course not.” She tilts the nozzle of the shower higher and cranks the water warmer. We’re both rinsing off in our suits after our latest almost-drowning session at the YMCA. “What’d you do this time?”

  “Did you see how he acted toward me?”

  “Who?”

  “Cohen!”

  Leigh blinks in my direction. “I thought you said he asked you on a date last week, and you said no.”

  “Well, that’s true, but...” I trail off, hoping Leigh will pick up the slack.

  “But what?” Leigh looks over at me. “I know what you want me to say, honey, but I’m not going to say it.”

  “Was I terrible to him today?”

  “No! You’re allowed to tell him you’re not interested in a date. But then you shouldn’t be surprised when he backs off.” Leigh reaches for the shampoo and squirts some into her hand. She begins washing her hair as she gives me the side eye. “I know what’s happening here. You’re not very sly.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “You’re playing hard to get, and Cohen’s respecting your wishes. It’s frustrating you.”

  “I said no to the date. I didn’t say that he couldn’t ever talk to me again.”

  “He talked to you just fine today. Just like he talked to me and Jason. Like a professional.”

  “Stupid professionalism.”

  “Hon, if you’re interested, why don’t you give him a sign?” Leigh extends the shampoo bottle over to me, and I press some into my hand and mutter a thank you. “Believe it or not, it’s a good sign he backed off. If he had started pursuing you continuously after you told him no, well, that’s called stalking.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Hey, I get it, Annie. Every woman wants to feel pursued. Wants to feel like even if she pushes her man away, he’ll fight for her.”

  “Maybe.”

  “The thing is, he’s not your man. Not yet, at least. The rules are different. You’re going to have to relax and throw him a bone.”

  “I thought I did.”

  “When?!” Leigh snorts with laughter as she rinses her hair. “You glared at him all class and threatened him with a painful death if he took your noodle away.”

  “I didn’t mean it to be rude.”

  “Even if you don’t want to date him, it might not kill you to lighten up a little.” Leigh turns the handle and shuts the water off. “Yes, he stole your noodle on the first day of class, but he apologized. He asked you out on a date—so what? Is it really so bad he finds you attractive and smart?”

  A tiny layer of unease settles over me. “I guess not.”

  “He took a risk asking you out, and you shut him down. He’s not going to read your mind, honey. In my experience, men don’t even read a To-Do list if their name is stamped across the top.”

  “Great. Now I feel like the jerk.”

  “Neither of you are jerks! You’re just all young and in lust.”

  I wash my hair more furiously. “I’m not lusting after him.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I just want...” I sigh. “I don’t know what I want.”

  “Ding, ding, ding. Figure out what you do want before you play games with him. Decide if you want to be professional or... more than that.”

  “What’s your advice?”

  “Just relax! Have some fun. I don’t mean that in a reckless way, I just mean if you like talking to him, don’t be afraid to say hello. If he asks you for coffee and you want to go, then go.”

  “But what about professionalis
m and all of that?”

  “It’s swimming lessons. Most people sign up for them voluntarily.”

  “Not me.”

  She rolls her eyes. “If you both decide to spend some time together, no one is going to care.”

  “There’s a chance you might be right.”

  “Of course I’m right.” Leigh grabs her towel and wraps it around her body. She eyes me, and my swimsuit, before speaking. “And don’t be afraid to look like a woman. I don’t know what that thing is, but if Cohen notices you in it, he’ll be knocked unconscious when he sees the real you.”

  “Thanks, Leigh. See you next week?”

  “Yes. And if you bring that suit again, I’m bringing a torch.”

  Chapter 17

  COHEN

  For the first time ever, I wonder if she doesn’t hate me.

  Last week, Annie iced me out like I’d been infected by the plague. Every time I looked over at her, I’d caught her glaring back. I’d leaned over at one point to help adjust her noodle, and she’d just about taken my eye out with her elbow.

  I’d gotten the picture and backed off. Probably better for both of us, anyway. I’m supposed to be professional, and if Annie ignores me completely, it makes it a helluva lot easier on my end.

  This week, however, it’s as if a light switch has flipped. I’m standing on the pool deck when she arrives for class a few minutes early and offers up a bright and cheery smile. She even addresses me by name. I’m so stunned I can’t think of a response.

  “You okay?” she asks. “Did I startle you?”

  “Annie! No, sorry. I was, uh...nice suit.” I cringe internally as she glances down and surveys the black bikini that’s replaced the weird burlap sack. “I just mean—”

  “Thanks.” She smiles, almost shyly, and moves toward the pool. “Maybe this week you can help me try to tread water without the noodle?”

  “I won’t pull your noodle away from you, I promise. I apologized, and I meant it—”